


The Parts We Keep

by GalaxyGazing



Category: Steam Powered Giraffe
Genre: Angst, Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-09
Updated: 2013-03-09
Packaged: 2017-12-04 18:12:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/713575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyGazing/pseuds/GalaxyGazing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has been a year since the Crystal Pepsi ran out and Rabbit wants to properly put The Jon to rest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Parts We Keep

The idea came to Rabbit when he went to fetch a screwdriver from the storage room.

Usually, the self-operating Walter Manor took care of all the automatons’ maintenance, but there was one decorative screw in Rabbit’s jaw that was so old fashioned in its style, it required a specific tool to tighten.

In truth, it would have served Rabbit well to have had the thing replaced long ago, but it was one of the first pieces Pappy Walter had installed in him when he realized that he wanted the metal men’s mouths to move while they sang. The robot kept the tiny part around for just that reason.

The room was a large warehouse, bolts and knobs and gears were plentiful in boxes, drums of oil filled the shelves. Everything needed to sustain a steam-powered automaton for eternity was present. Rabbit tripped over a case carelessly left on the floor, the only thing out of place in the well-organized room.

He was able to read the label as the box skid across the floor and landed on its side: _Crystal Pepsi, you’ve never seen a taste like this_. A few more cardboard packages identical to the one he stumbled over were stacked against the wall, all empty.

Rabbit’s metal heart panged and the reason he'd ventured into the warehouse in the first place was no longer recallable. Stepping over a few more haphazardly thrown boxes, Rabbit automatically walked down aisles and rounded corners until he ended up in exactly the place he had avoided for so long.

The golden, Art Deco robot lay sitting upright but rather slumped over against a cement wall in the very back of the storage room. A year’s worth of dust had collected on the top and rim of his hat, turning them gray.

“Hi, Jon,” Rabbit whispered, surprised at how loud the murmur seemed in the quiet of the hollow room.

Nobody in the Manor had the heart to dispose of The Jon once the Crystal Pepsi ran out. Rabbit, most of all, was adamantly against the idea of throwing him out; he had shakily voiced his opinion in a tone which strongly hinted there would be conflict should anyone oppose him on this.

How could they possibly part with him? There were not many things left in this world that had a common history with him and The Jon, though inoperable, was one of them.

Besides The Spine, who else knew what it was like to do battle with copper African elephants? How it felt to have your limbs replaced with weapons, your purpose altered from entertainment to destruction, then back to entertainment? Who else was there when their shows only cost two cents?

Who else could say ‘yes’ when Rabbit asked ‘remember when?’

The day The Jon stopped working was the first time in a long while that Rabbit had delved into the terrifying topic of life and death with The Spine. In the beginning, when they were still figuring out the workings of their inner mechanisms, this topic was contemplated more frequently and the robots had even written a song about it— _what is life, what is real, and why do living things need feelings_? But as time passed, the automatons became more comfortable with their existences; they knew their calling was to make music and they were content doing so.

However, never before had any of them ceased to function. It was then that Rabbit had asked whether The Spine thought if maybe, like humans speculate, automatons go somewhere after they shut down; places like Heaven and Hell, and if The Jon would be allowed into the nicer one.

He asked if you needed a spirit to qualify for entry, and whether automatons had those. Was The Jon’s end even considered a death? If The Jon didn’t have “life” he certainly had consciousness, and that had to count for something, Rabbit supposed.

The Spine, of course, couldn’t answer with any certainty and the most comforting response he could give was, “I don’t think automatons have to worry about those sorts of things, Rabbit. I think they just stop working.”

Rabbit bent down, balancing on his toes and carefully took The Jon’s top hat into his hands. He brushed the dust off of it and broke apart any cobwebs that had formed around him.

“I’m sorry I,” Rabbit choked. It was odd that he would stumble on a word that didn’t result from a speech malfunction, but talking was harder than usual at the moment. Rabbit forced his jaw, still-loose from the wobbly screw, into the best smile he could manage, “I’m sorry I haven’t visited in a while.”

The delicate tinkling of the florescent light bulbs popped heavily through the silence. Rabbit wanted to tell The Jon about their shows, and that funny thing The Spine accidentally did last week, and how much Rabbit missed him, but the silence was a javelin through his rusting heart and words were no longer manageable.

Rabbit thumbed the brim of the hat in his hands a few seconds longer before he placed it back atop the golden curls and left the storage room with his screwdriver.

That’s when the idea came to him.

 

-

 

“A burial?” The Spine asked, “Why?”

“You know why,” Rabbit said, quietly.

“Because it’s depressing to have him in storage?”

“Because it’s depressing _not_ to have him around the manor.”

Rabbit’s point was made and The Spine pursed his black lips thin. Of course, the subject hurt him so much more than he was willing to admit but he was so accustomed to being the rock of the family, mostly for Rabbit’s sake, that he couldn’t afford to crack now.

“Funerals are for people,” The Spine said simply, answering neither yes nor no.

“I didn’t say funeral, I said _burial_. I just think, y-y-y-y-y-you know, we owe him that. After all we’ve been through together, he deserves better than to collect dust in a warehouse like, like,”

Like a pile of scrap metal. Neither needed to say it. Admitting it would be too much, especially when the only thread the two remaining automatons clung to was an incredibly thin one made out of the single hope that perhaps they were something more than the sum of their parts.

The Spine exhaled a good amount of steam. Green lights disappeared behind closed eyelids and, wordlessly, the silver robot nodded in understanding.

 

-

 

The Walter decedents were nice enough to come and pay their respects. They each gave short, sweet little speeches; Wanda had even used the word “spirited” when describing The Jon and the word had put Rabbit at ease. The grave was constructed right next to Pappy’s and flowers were thrown, as well as planted atop it.

The automatons remained outside even after it became too chilly for the humans. Steam fogged the air as Rabbit tried to be at peace with the finality of it. He knew The Jon had a nice cozy spot next to the Colonel where no one could disturb him by unintentionally stumbling over him in a dingy storage room.

The Spine stood beside the copper man for quite a while before asking, “Would you like to say something to him, Rabbit?”

“No, I…I tried earlier in the storage room but I just…The humans pretty much said it all, anyway.”

A silver hand fell comforting and heavy on Rabbit’s shoulder. Of course the touch was not felt and was only acknowledged by the shift in weight, but the gesture still held the intended meaning.

“The Spine…If you and I ever shut down,”

“We’re not going to shut down, Rabbit.” The Spine cut him off, he could tell Rabbit was hurting and the conversation wasn’t leading in the right direction to console him. This was hard for them both and The Spine silently begged him not to say it, but Rabbit still had to.

“If we do,” Rabbit blinked back the welling oil and tried to make his voice as steady as possible, “Please, let me go first. I don’t think I can do another one of these,” He gestured to the new garden slowly taking root over The Jon when the words refuse to come.

“We’re not going to shut down,” The Spine repeated with an empathetic smile. Rabbit was all too aware of the fact that this was another instance in which The Spine didn’t know whether or not that was true. A lot of those questions they had about life, _ever since they first time they opened their eyes_ , still hadn’t been answered.

When the robots came back inside, the Crystal Pepsi boxes were being crushed into the recycle bin and the humans were serving a cake they made just for the occasion to help lighten the mood.

Rabbit touched the now-tightened screw in his jaw. He knew that the part was older than The Jon and yet it still continued to function, which made his metal body feel all the more heavy. Still, Rabbit couldn’t help but make the comparison between the two. The Jon was now very much like that little, decorative screw of his:

It was better off replaced, less hindering were it to be forgotten, but Rabbit would carry it with him forever because it meant something to him.

 

-

 

The End.


End file.
